


just hold me safe in your arms

by acetamide



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acetamide/pseuds/acetamide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times that Erik was hugged, and 1 time he hugged somebody else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just hold me safe in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/8359.html?thread=16627623#t16627623) at [1stclasskink](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/).

Erik’s earliest memory is vague and more of a feeling than anything else. There’s no real detail to it; no specifics, no surroundings, no furniture, no weather. There are no place names or dates or times of day.

What there is instead is his father’s arms, strong and secure and holding him against his chest. It’s his father’s hands, gentle where they clean his bleedings knees and stem the flow of blood. Erik doesn’t have many lasting memories of his father; he was always a stoic man, very traditional and detached and aloof, though never unkind and never neglectful, and Erik cried as much for the loss of his father as he did his mother, some nights.

But he remembers his father embracing him, and telling him that he was brave for not crying, and he holds onto that with shaking hands whenever he feels like he’s starting to forget.

 

**

 

His mother would hug him more often than he liked; she knew that he found it embarrassing and so did it all the more, teasing him and ruffling his hair in front of friends and family and strangers alike until he pulled a face and twisted away from her easy affection. He would say that he was nearly a man now, he didn’t need his mother holding him like a baby, and she would just laugh.

Now, every day he wishes for one more chance to be held in her arms.

 

**

 

Sometimes, Schmidt calls him _son_.

Everything about Erik wants to scream when he does so; wants to curse at him and throw the nearest sharp object into his chest, and shout for his mother and father who he knows will never hear him. But he doesn’t, because he knows what the consequences will be. He knows the needles and the scalpels well now, and he knows how they can be used to hurt him, to force him, to push him into greatness. Schmidt already has enough ways to induce pain and anger, and Erik does not need to give him more ammunition.

So the first time that he successfully picks a lock without damaging the mechanism at all and Schmidt bends to put his arms around him, and says _I’m proud of you, son,_ Erik just stands as still as he can and tries not to make the pipes in the wall vibrate in hatred.

 

**

 

Another night, another dead end, and another weary walk back to whichever hotel he’s staying in now in his endless search for Schmidt. This time, it’s snowing – falling in large lumps from a coal-black sky that’s filled with stars, and he’s got on a thick coat and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. His nose and ears are beginning to sting from the cold, and his hands are pushed deep into the pockets of his coat as his feet crunch on the ground.

There are noises in the streets, the sound of people celebrating. He wonders vaguely if there’s a party nearby; he’s not even close to the city centre, but there are plenty of bars and restaurants nearby. There’s laughter and singing and shouting, and he feels suddenly very alone.

He turns as he hears the sound of running feet behind him, every nerve in his body alert and his whole body tensed for an attack. He’s acutely aware of every atom of metal in the vicinity, every possible item that he could use in defence, and his hand is gripping his gun before he’s even registered who’s running towards him. It’s a girl – young, in her early twenties maybe, with blonde hair escaping from under a knitted green hat and clumps of snow stuck to her clothes.

“Happy New Year!” she shouts gleefully and throws herself at him, enveloping him in a hug that startles him so much that he loses his breath, and kisses his cheek before releasing him with a grin. She smells faintly of alcohol but not enough to be drunk, and as she releases him, her friends catch up to her. One of them grabs her by the hand and pulls her away and all he can see is her blinding smile and flushed cheeks before she’s whisked towards the celebrations, and the fireworks explode in the sky above them.

Another year has rolled around without Erik even noticing and just like that 1961 is over and done with, but the few moments that he’s experienced already feel better and more promising than what’s gone before.

 

**

 

She catches him, one evening, sat hunched over the kitchen table and staring into a cup of coffee like it can tell him how the world can change, so without warning and so powerfully, and leave him gasping in its wake. He looks up as she walks in, and says nothing as she climbs onto a stool opposite him. She doesn’t say anything, and he’s quite happy to sit in silence; of all the children that he and Charles have brought to the mansion, Raven is the least irritating. She is also the one most adept at winding Charles up, which brings Erik endless amusement.

“Are you scared?” she asks eventually, and he looks up at her. She’s fiddling with her nails, picking off the varnish that he’d smelled her applying earlier in the day.

“Of anything in specific?”

“Of Shaw and what he’s going to do.”

“Not particularly.”

“He’s going to try to start World War Three.”

“And we’re going to stop him. Have a little more faith in us,” he says, and she smiles reluctantly. “Besides, it could be weeks before he actually tries anything. There’s no need to start panicking yet.”

She watches him for a moment, tracks his movements as he takes a sip of coffee, and her smiles fades.

“It must be nice, to not be afraid of anything,” she says, and Erik knows that she’s thinking of her natural blue form and the hostility that she would face should she ever slip up in public with her disguise. Even here, in her own home, she doesn’t feel comfortable and confident enough to not have to hide.

“I find that the best way to deal with fear is to confront it head-on,” he says quietly. She almost laughs, and shoots him an indecipherable look.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not scared of anything.”

“I’m scared of what the humans might do to the people that I care about,” he replies without hesitation, and her eyebrows raise. “I have no fear for myself, but I dread to think of what their so-called scientists might do if they ever got their hands on Charles or any one of you, or any mutant that we can’t get to first. Their ignorance of us can quickly turn to hatred, and I won’t have any of my kind be persecuted like I was. That’s what I fear.”

Raven is usually as easy to read as Charles – she has the same kind eyes, the same open expressions and obvious body movements. But now she just stares until it makes him slightly uncomfortable and he occupies himself with his coffee once more. He glances up briefly and it’s to see her smiling at him.

She climbs down from her stool and comes around the table, and as he sets down his coffee she folds him into a tight embrace, resting her cheek on the top of his head. She is warm and soft against him and for a moment, it feels entirely like he could make a place for himself here, in this strange little family that’s been brought together through the oddest of circumstances.

“You’re a good man, Erik Lehnsherr,” she says with a sigh, and twists her head to kiss his hair in a painfully affectionate gesture as she lets go of him. “I know you try to hide it, but you really are a good man.”

 _No,_ he thinks as she walks away, and he suddenly doesn’t want the rest of his coffee. _No, I’m not_.

 

**

 

Charles is nervous.

Erik doesn’t need to be a telepath to know it; it’s clear from the way that he’s pacing across Erik’s bedroom, his arms folded across his chest and his fingers clenching the material of his cardigan. Also the way that he appeared at Erik’s door immediately after breakfast and walked straight past him as he opened the door, and hasn’t stopped pacing for the last ten minutes, despite not saying a word, whilst Erik continues to dress and wash around him.

It’s possibly due to the fact that they’re about to attempt to avert World War Three, but Erik could be wrong.

“I think you’re wearing a hole in the carpet,” Erik points out mildly, and Charles pauses only to glare at him.

“What if we’re making a mistake?” he says quite suddenly, and shoves his hands into his pockets as Erik dries his face. “What if Shaw’s not there? Or worse, what if we’re walking into a trap?”

“Shaw _will_ be there; you said yourself, he won’t leave anything to chance. And he’s going to be so busy ensuring that his plans work that he won’t be focusing on us.”

“Even without Emma though, he’s still got Riptide, Azazel and Angel with him. And Angel might not have much training, but the other two are vicious – they could pose a serious threat.”

“We’re more than a match for them, you’ve seen how much the kids have improved.”

“But what if something happens to one of the children?” Charles snaps, and stops pacing to glare at Erik, who has his head halfway through his jumper. There’s a wild gleam in his eyes and his hair is ruffled and his cardigan wrinkled, and he looks more frantic than Erik’s ever seen him. He pulls his sweater down properly and crosses the room, and pulls Charles into a hug.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” Erik says quietly as Charles’ arms come up to wrap tightly around his back. “I won’t let anything happen to the children, you know that. Or to you.”

“But that doesn’t stop me worrying,” Charles says into his neck, his lips just brushing at Erik’s skin, and the light touch makes him shiver and hold on just that little bit tighter. “I can’t help but think of all the things that could go wrong, all of the angles that I might not have covered, every eventuality that I haven’t planned for.”

“Then we’ll deal with them when we come to them. That’s how life works, Charles.”

Charles sighs heavily, and twists his head, pressing his face into Erik and huffing.

“I’m glad that you’re here,” he says, so quietly that Erik almost doesn’t hear it. “I wouldn’t want to do this alone.”

“I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t pulled me out of the water. Now come on,” he murmurs into Charles’ hair, and smiles even though nobody can see him. “Let’s go save the world.”


End file.
